


God ships it (Castiel doesn’t)

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Castiel suddenly receives revelation from his errant father. His mission? Fuck Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God ships it (Castiel doesn’t)

The first time Castiel received revelation, he collapsed on the sidewalk. He woke up three days later, bleeding on a layer of newspapers in a motel room.

“Had no idea angels had so much juice in them,” Bobby said from his seat at the small table, before sending Dean a text. “What happened to you?”

“I received the word of God,” Castiel rasped, still laying on his back and staring at the water-damaged ceiling.

“Huh. Good news?”

Castiel rolled onto his side, and threw up.

*

“If God does that to every angel,” Dean observed later in a diner, “I’m not surprised none of you went looking for him earlier.”

“It has been a long time since he has spoken to an angel,” Castiel replied. “And I am barely an angel, let alone a metatron.”

“God blew your speakers out,” Bobby summarised.

“Wow,” Dean said, “I feel a little better knowing that God can screw up.”

“Of course he can,” Sam quipped. “He made you.”

“No insight on how to stop the devil?” Bobby asked as Sam and Dean bickered.

Castiel shook his head. “His words were unclear through the sound of my brain melting. But perhaps I will be lucky and he’ll contact me again.”

“Right,” Bobby said. “Lucky.”

*

The second time Castiel received revelation, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to his knees. He stayed like that for two hours, though twenty minutes in he started bleeding from the fingernails. He woke up disoriented under a large blanket.

“We thought it would be easier to cover you up than move you,” Dean explained. “Any news?”

Castiel stared at Dean for a long time. “I think the message must have been scrambled,” he replied as Dean and Sam helped him to his feet.

“But you got a message?” Sam asked eagerly. “Instructions?”

Castiel swayed on his feet, still focussed on Dean. “I don’t think I can achieve what has been asked of me.”

“What is it?” Dean asked. “Do you need more holy oil?”

Castiel paled, and staggered forwards. “I think my conversation with God should remain private, for the moment,” he said, turning his face away. “Until I find the meaning of his words.”

*

“I know that you’re working on this as hard as you can,” Sam said by way of greeting as he sat down next to Castiel on a park bench. “But you haven’t received another voicemail from God, and I’m thinking that it would be really, _really_ helpful right now if we could work on whatever it is you have, rather than waiting for Lucifer to play his trump card.”

“The message did not contain any information about stopping Lucifer,” Castiel said flatly. 

“We could – wait, what? Nothing?”

Castiel shook his head mutely.

“Then what was it about? Does... Does God _want_ the apocalypse?”

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe God has gone crazy in his time away from Heaven. Maybe He has always been crazy, to pay so much attention to small details that the larger picture is missed.”

Sam stared out over the park. “Maybe you didn’t get all of the message?”

Castiel shrugged again. “Third time lucky.”

*

The final time Castiel received revelation he was sitting on the end of Dean’s bed, watching the news. His eyes closed, he started glowing faintly, and that was the only sign.

“-this better? Castiel?” a voice inside him asked.

“Yes?” he tried.

“Oh, good. Sorry – I’m a little out of practice. But you’re receiving me?”

“Roger that,” Castiel replied, remember the small pieces of radio lingo that Dean had taught him.

“So, the Dean mission, we’re working on kind of a deadline here so I was thinking-”

“Excuse me?”

“-that you should really take advantage of all the tension and stuff going on with you guys, and-”

“Um, excuse me?”

“- the whole apocalypse thing is just the perfect setting for the culmination of the epic-”

“Hey!”

“... Yes?”

“How do we stop the apocalypse?”

“... What?”

“The apocalypse. Sam and Lucifer. How do we stop that?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to worry about that. You were assigned to Dean, remember?”

“But what about Sam?”

“Sam has Gabriel. Now, as I was saying, you should really be putting your energies into-”

“But Gabriel is dead.”

“Wait, what? Since when?”

“A few weeks ago. He was killed when Lucifer killed many of the other gods.”

“...”

“You didn’t know?”

“Well, I had been wondering why he’d stopped cussing me. But that’s not really the focus here. You and Dean-”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I will not be doing anything with anyone unless the apocalypse is averted.”

“But-”

“No.”

“But you’re an angel!”

“A fallen one.”

“I’m God! You have to obey me!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the free will I’m exercising right now.”

“But... But I’ve spent hundreds of years setting this up! Getting the lineages right, getting the setting. This is like the perfect tale of battlefield love and lust!”

“How sad for you.”

“...”

“...”

“Fine, what do I have to do to make you cooperate?”

“Stop the apocalypse and make sure that neither Sam nor Dean become vessels.”

“And you do as I ask of you?”

Castiel hesitated. Finally he relented. “Yes.”

And the world shifted around him.

*

When Castiel woke up he had a trail of drool down his chin and Dean had draped some damp socks over his shoulder to dry out.

“Any luck this time?” Dean asked, wringing his shirt out over the bathroom sink.

“I have spoken with God,” Castiel affirmed. 

“He give you the step-by-step this time?”

Castiel pulled Dean’s socks from his shoulder and laid them out on the bed. “I have convinced him to stop the apocalypse.”

Dean looked over at Cas with a proud grin. “Steamrolled him into a plan of your own, huh?”

Castiel stared at Dean for a long moment, before licking his lips. “We agreed on a compromise,” he conceded. “Where’s Sam?”

“Out saying goodbye to the world, which I guess is unnecessary now, but he hasn’t gotten any sun for a while, so...”

“We should get alcohol,” Castiel said firmly. “To celebrate.”

“A ‘We Beat the Apocalypse’ party? I’m in.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a further, long moment. “ _Lot’s_ of alcohol,” he clarified. “All of it.”

*

About two-thirds of the way through the good stuff, Gabriel turned up. 

“Rejoice,” he said solemnly, “for I hath slain the dragon.” There was a lot of exploded angel down his front.

“I am too wasted to even _care_ that you are not dead,” Dean said, jabbing a finger at Gabriel. “Have some schnapps.”

“I’m kind of interested in why you’re not dead,” Sam said, his head lolling around on his shoulders. “Why are you not dead?”

“You’ll have to buy the last of the Winchester gospels to find out,” Gabriel said, hauling Sam up out of his seat. “Hey, have you ever seen a unicorn? Because I have one in the parking lot...” And the restored archangel conveniently led the drunken sasquatch out into the night.

“Are you gonna be all angel and alive again, too?” Dean asked, slumping against Castiel’s shoulder.

“In time,” Castiel replied. “I have my side of the bargain to hold up.”

Dean tilted his head back so he was staring up at Castiel’s face. “What was your side?” he asked. “Because this side,” he poked Castiel’s arm, “is pretty comfy.”

Castiel stared down at Dean. At the eyes that were in the early stages of going myopic, the crooked teeth hidden behind torn and fraying lips, the freckle on his nose that would eventually become a melanoma, the general mess of rot and decay that was an adult human body. He shuddered, and tried to wash the bad taste in his mouth with a bottle of curacao.

“I’ll tell you when we get to the moonshine,” he replied.

Dean grinned lopsidedly and held up his bottle of schnapps. “To us and the moonshine!” he declared as a toast.

Castiel sighed, and reluctantly clinked his bottle against Dean’s. “To us.”


End file.
